When I start a piece, I create a sound bank; I include new sounds, never used before, that might fit my intention and reworked old sounds. I listen to them and create detailed inventories... For example, for De Natura Sonorum, I made lists of sounds classified by shape, subject, colour, etc, according to the TOM (Treaty of Musical Objects) typology.
When I begin a story I know it's set to go. I always begin with the first and last lines. That never changes. Some writers work on a story to see where it will go, what will happen to the characters, but I always know everything about the story before I begin writing it.
Generally I set out with a rather naive attitude because I never really know when my work is actually started. It is not that I think it is difficult - I know what has to be done - but somehow I have to start and then realize: "This will turn into something. We can build upon this" But I could never begin by saying "This is really good - this is the way to do it". I have to put things into motion and then start working.
If you want to renew something you must show that you can do what has been done. You can't begin by innovation. You can't begin by free verse for example. You should attempt a sonnet, or any other set stanza, and then go on to the new things.
The level of detail and craft is something that’s inscribed within the original design concept. And so when I begin to draw, I know what kind of detailing I want the building to have.
There was a desire to start again after the end of a certain idea of Europe, which corresponded to my life, or to my intellectual trajectory. Is there a possible start point that might allow us to begin again? As far as cinema goes, it hasn't been found and one wonders whether it's possible since we don't appear to be capable of speaking or filming differently. It's more like an end for the moment.
Things To Come (1936) looks at what would have happened if a World War in the 20th Century had lasted three decades, folks built underground cities and space guns became popular. The chaps in the photo are loading the Gas of Peace into a bomber. Based on an H. G. Wells novel.
Girl Chewing Gum by John Smith. He shot this in 1976 on Stamford Road, looking across to what is now the bike shop opposite the Oxfam on Kingsland Road. It was one of about 30 films on the subject of East London screened last weekend in the Rio as part of the East End Film Festival.
Who wants to cuddle Charles the hardest? Let Edwige and Alberte fight it out.
The film (re-)discovery of the year for me - Bresson's The Devil, Probably (clip). Not knowing whether you want to lamp Charles in the chops or embrace him is half the fun (and a mark of its complexity). It's got such a memorable tone and remarkable performances that it left a big impression second time around - especially the church scenes. It's still my favourite suicide film ahead of Taste of Cherry and Japon. Other films I stumbled across this year: Apichatpong Weerasethakul's mesmerizing Syndromes & A Century, Carlos Reygadas' breathtaking Mexican Mennonite film Silent Light, the totally wonderful Zizek! (clip) and one of the only good biogs I've ever seen - Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell (clip) as well as UK screenings of Godard's Histoire(s) du Cinema (clip) and Marker's A Grin Without a Cat (clip); both epic in length, scope and purpose and well worth the wait.
I've long been a fan of Len Lye's work. Lye was a member of the GPO film unit, whose landmark work was the wonderful soviet-influenced Night Mail (The GPO Film Unit was part of the Post Office). The GPO Film Unit collected works are available on DVD.
Lye's technique often involved painting directly onto celluloid. Full filmography.
Pasolini's Il Vangelo secondo Matteo is one of the most memorable pieces of cinema I've ever seen. I just saw it for a second time, and what strikes me most is the soundtrack. The contrast of Bach's choral piece, St.Matthew's Passion, with Odetta's A Motherless Child and the mind-blowing excerpts of Missa Luba, combined with the cinematographic style literally make the film. Missa Luba is a Congolese take on Latin Mass, in which a choir underlays a solo voice - here's some recordings and notes on the compositions (gourd shaking is vital). The actual piece that Pasolini uses throughout the film is a child choir performance of 'Gloria', in particular the latter stages. If you haven't seen the film, you're missing out on the best biopic ever created.
Now I know what Sontag was on about. I can't think of a better work of art that expresses what the dissolution of communism in Eastern Europe actually meant than this one. Here's an excerpt from an interview with Bela Tarr at senses of cinema:
FD & MLC: Do you use storyboards?
BT: No. Storyboards are stupid, stupid things... the story's only a part of the movie because the other things, time, rhythm, noises and...
FD & MLC: Music?
BT: Music, of course. And we are just trying to find something like a complex or total movie which isn't only the story...
FD & MLC: Thematically, your films' depiction of a world on the brink of catastrophe seems to link up with a lot of other films made lately, Pola X for example.
BT: I'm sorry, in the past four years I haven't seen anything.
I made a noise video from my old handycam tapes. I've found myself coming back to it quite a lot over the past few days. Here's a low resolution excerpt(avi) captured on my digital camera (original still vhs right now).
The Rebotcast Network get synths to read you RSS feeds. Great for the blind i guess, and just as handy for commuters with a blind hatred of public radio. I'm using it to catch up with BBC world news as i lunge to work with my mp3 player.
